


Mere Monstrosities

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Torture, Violence, Whump, Whumpee, whumper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Imagine yourself, for a moment or two, to be a deity. Unbridled power, passion, capabilities, and you walk amongst everyone else, everyone inferior- perhaps to humble, likely not, You are aware of your superiority, how one wave of your hand could present unimaginable wonders for those around you. One wave of your hand could kill thousands, provided you put the effort in.And then imagine being kidnapped. Not just by anyone though, of course, your luck is so low that you're kidnapped by a cult.One that worships you.And, unfortunately, this is the life of Lorelle Ipsum- A celestial being, ruler of chaos and order, future and past, dark and light; a kidnapping victim. How much longer would her reign last?





	1. Worship The Flame

She lived as the mortals did, though evidently with more power and far more capabilities than they could even imagine possessing.  
She lived as the mortals did, though she had far less of a need for their human desires and instead just a craving for it, an intrigued craving, one of curiosity and nothing more. She didn’t need the lavish lifestyle that she let herself live, but she craved the way that such delights and guilty pleasures made her feel.  
She lived as the mortals did, albeit worshipped,loved, praised and adored wherever she went. She was followed by her ever loving crowd. She fulfilled, or indulged in, every role of the seven deadly sins in some way, and yet they loved her still, praised her, adored her. She was their deity, they had no choice.

Her pride was fed, inflating her ego when she caught another glance of a shrine dedicated to her endless faces and the incomparable power she possessed. It was fuelled when she saw a church with some illustration of her imagines form- nobody saw her the way she saw herself. They saw her take whatever image of her was concocted in their weird and twisted human minds, with their odd lust and their endless imagination. To them, she was any race, any ethnicity, any height or weight or bust size or hair colour or eye colour, sex or gender. She had been everything, and she would be everything. To them, she was a blank canvas and the only thing that could change that was if she had no choice, or deemed someone worthy enough, to reveal her chosen form. And, worse than that, her true form. But there were images, paintings, depictions, an endless variety of how people imagined her. All beautiful for their own reasons, most of them unique, some of them the same. And every time she was imagined as something new, or depicted in a new way, she felt a new sense of pride or excitement. She knew she was still loved, still popular, and sometimes that was enough.

Wrath was an easy one, it was likely her most infrequently experienced sins, one of those compelling ones that appeared rarely but, when they did, they were an overwhelming and insatiable desire. Her wrath was a force that only the foolish would reckon with, that Satan himself, provided he existed, would refuse to fight. No level of enlightenment could allow her to shed her wrath, the fury that burned in her veins and her mind, clouding her vision and swarming through her thoughts with only a desire for blood. Those who took the abuse were often deserving, occasionally not. Those who were deserving were sinners, those which she called the Wretched. Those who stole from her shrines or donations, those who ate the food that had been prepared for her. Those who were undeserving were often her Devout, sometimes even liked enough to earn the name Honoured. Or, perhaps, she called them that out of pity when her wrath was so insatiable that she knew a grim demise was awaiting them. They offered themselves to her and she would honour them as best as she could to show how grateful she was.

No matter who they were, their ends were bloody, slow, agonising.

Envy, however? What was envy to a divine being? What was envy to one who could snap her perfect fingers and have whatever she demanded presented to her? What was envy to someone superior to others- pride- who could do anything? Have anything? Be anything? What was envy to Lorelle, if not an itching feeling that could be sated with a little scratch? What was envy but a little something she could deal with by getting what she desired or, simply eliminating the competition? Oh, how her wrath enjoyed sating her envy. What was the phrase? Two birds, one stone? For her, it was two sins, one slaughter.

Lust was an easy one, too. She had her Devoted, she had her loyal followers, and she had those close to her who earned the name Honoured. She had all that she would need provided that she was feeling a little lustful or bolder than usual- and what an honour it would be for her Honoured to be able to lie with her for a day, to see her unwound and vulnerable. What a rare and exquisite sight. One that many dreamed of, she knew, but too rare for most to experience. 

Sloth was no issue to her. Oh, if she desired a day or two spent lounging around and relaxing, she could do so without guilt. She could do as she pleased, whenever she pleased. If she sank to the ground by her shrine in her church, she’d be provided with pillows or blankets for comfort, snacks to be fed for convenience, and endless adoring praise. The most she would need to do was lift her hand for a Devoted to kiss, or for another ring to be slid onto it. Greed. Anything was this easy to get with a church following so generous. So willing to bend to her will without even needing to be snapped into line. Her power was enough motivation for them. Their admiration was enough.

Her gluttony was easily sated- all it took was for her Devoted to present their gifts to her. That was what she called her followers- her Devoted. They didn’t get their own names unless they were favoured or already known. They didn’t earn their own names nor titles until they’d shown her that they were worth her attention. Endless gifts would be presented to her- food, drinks, jewels, clothes, anything she could think of. She would be doused in gifts of the finest wines, sparkling ciders, freshly pressed fruit juice, full platters of roast dinners- pork, beef, lamb, and once even an ox, though swan was still her favourite.

Sometimes she was given cakes, triple-tiered and gorgeously decorated with the most cautiously crafted flowers and gold flakes, full of oozing chocolate sauce or tangy fruit jams. She was often gifted candies, too, though they were the more pathetic gifts to be offered to a Goddess. Usually, though, it was younger kids that handed them to her- often just when she passed, they’d have their sticky hands curled around a wrapped candy and offer it up to her. Some of them had even gotten used to carrying lemon sherbets in their pockets for her, knowing that those were her favourites. She took a liking to sour candies the most.

As for greed? She had been doused in emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. She had been given rose quartz and opal, which she had taken quite a liking to even if they were common. Her Devoted would find ways to weave gemstones like those into a variety of gifts and such, tiaras often, but sometimes rings or bracelets. She was their everything and they made sure she knew it, giving them everything that they worked so hard on. Their reward was her presence, her praise, her validation. She made sure that the Devoted knew how much she appreciated it- even one glance at her collection would put the richest humans to shame, and she adored that. Pride.

Was it selfish? Without a doubt.

Did she care? Not for a second.

She was unique. She was exquisite. She was flawless. She was rare, divine, and she had capabilities that people could only dream of. She, with her dark skin and long black hair, curly and cascading down to her hips, was gorgeous, perfect. She, with her smooth features and sharp jawline, with her golden freckles that glinted in the sunlight like winking stars scattered across her cheeks. With her gold eyes, struck with pupils like a snakes. Still, she was beautiful. She was a rare creature, with her slender form and the way she walked so lightly on her feet, with the rich silk gowns she dressed in. She was the only one of every creature around her that was truly unique. And, in the form she chose for herself, the one she wore under the illusions, she knew her beauty. She knew of her full lips, her vibrant eyes, her greek nose, the jewels that ran along her ear and pierced her nose, her tongue, and her stomach.

She had the power that a thousand galaxies would slaughter to have, the knowledge that every sentient creature could only desire. She was everything.

And she was plagued with arrogance.

Oh, she knew it. She was more than aware of her poisonous pride and how it ran through her very bones. How it affected the way she walked- the way she strutted with her head held high and a smile never leaving her lips. She was so used to having so many eyes on it, so she owned it. What else was she going to do? She might have been immortal in the eyes of a human with a short lifespan, but she knew that she wouldn’t live forever. Someday she was going to fade away again and join the cosmos that she was made of. The star freckles that danced over her cheeks would soon be stars dancing in the night sky for young children with dreams of astronomy to look up at. She could already tell, when she looked up at the stars, that each one was from one part of her in some life- and that perhaps she was already up there somewhere, in this form, but lucky enough to see the beauty she would soon have.

She knew she wouldn’t live forever, though, so she wasn’t going to live her only life full of insecurity and self-loathing. She was going to have power over even the ground that she walked on. And she was admired for that.

The issue with her admirers, those who were so loving and sincere that they earned the name Devoted, was that there was always the risk of some Devoted crossing the line from intrigue to infatuation. That was when they would earn their name as Deranged, not as Devoted. They would stray away from her light, or perhaps their intentions would have been tainted from the beginning. She would find out eventually anyway, it was inevitable- she had gathered her own group of Deranged. Devoted, but to a fault. Devoted not to her, but to the idea of her; the image of her, the thought of her. Where their desires, their needs, their lust would be put above her. Their everything would be put above her. She had managed to avoid contact with such people thus far but that wouldn’t last forever. They weren’t an issue to her, so she didn’t see an issue with simply avoiding them and keeping to herself.

If they became an issue, which she assumed inevitable, then she would find a way to eliminate her issues as and when the time came.

 

This morning she was beginning her usual walk to one of the churches she most frequently visited. She strode in her usual form, but their envisionment of her was a favoured form too. They would see her as a shorter girl, with lighter skin and darker eyes. She would have hair with more untameable curls than tight coils. She could feel how her body changed around her, and while she would look down and see the same body as ever, her Devoted would see a new body for her. It took no effort for her to take such forms, and she did enjoy giving people the freedom to see her however they chose to imagine her to look. There was always such a variety.

She had a balance though. Of course she did, such a thing was necessary to live healthily and exist without issue. She would meet expectations, fulfil desires, and move on when she grew tired of the same town and escaped elsewhere. When she decided that she wanted to approach another town or country with her beauty and splendor. She usually only stayed in one place for a century or so, that being akin to a week in a human lifespan, if not less. She had plenty more to entertain herself with in this quaint town, though, and so she would remain for a short while longer. Possibly longer than a century if she deemed it necessary.

Regardless, she brought her thoughts back into focus as she entered the church, curiosity beginning to stir as she wondered what she had missed in her week of absence- only to turn her eyes to the altar of her church and be met with an irritatingly familiar sight.

There was a man, held in place by two Devoted. He had made a name for himself by then- a thief, a sinner, one of the Wretched. Someone who didn’t follow Lorelle and instead stole from the shrines dedicated to her and gobbled up what was left out for her. Usually he was caught, reprimanded, and then sent out with the opportunity to make up for his mistakes. Today, however, was the fifth week where Lorelle had entered to see his face. He had displeased the church too many times now, and as a consequence had displeased her. Such a disappointing turn of events, too; she had given him more than enough chances to apologise or change his ways and he hadn’t.

And so came the day of reckoning, she assumed.

“Lorelle!” cried one of the Devoted, rushing over as Lorelle set foot inside the church. She watched as the Devoted knelt before her, head down in a show of both respect and obedience. “It’s his fifth offence! I fear that he won’t stop!” Oh, how the Devoted wailed when they feared that Lorelle would be dissatisfied with them. Oh, how respectfully they spoke to her as if she was just a ticking bomb, waiting for someone to push the wrong button or say the wrong thing to earn a bloody demise.

She paused, though. She studied the Devoted and the light tremble of their frame, of the way their mind seemed to reel with unspoken thoughts that Lorelle was tempted to read. The way that they pleaded, guilt plaguing their tremulous words. They knew the implications of their requests. They knew what would happen to this man, yet still they requested it.  
“Don’t you know the consequences he is due? The punishment for his foolish actions?” Lorelle spoke softly, her voice soft, slow, deliberate. Full of unspoken intent and potential. It was a coaxing little purr of sweetness, full of so much that she didn’t dare to voice. “You saw what happened last time. Do you wish that upon this man?”

Once before, there had been a similar offender. Dealt with sooner, not given five weeks to change, but with unrestrained rage, such bloody maleficence, that she heard rumour of the church finding congealed lumps of blood, flecks of rancid flesh, for weeks after she had left that day. And now, as it seemed, she was destined to have her fun with another of the Wretched. 

The Devout still had their eyes on Lorelle, wide and pleading and, so insufferably desperate. Acting as if this wasn’t just some petty thief, like some minor inconvenience, but instead like it was an infestation of rats or fleas, of cockroaches or termites that hadn’t left and needed to be poisoned. Even as these stray Wretched brought her amusement and intrigue, she wasn’t going to waste her time studying them. She wasn’t going to delay their executions like a cat toying with a mouse. She knew the utopia she wanted, she knew that she wanted people obeying her wherever she went. These people, these criminals and monsters, were putting a stop to that. It was an unforgivable kind of crime, obstructing her vision. 

If one occasional execution was the price her ideal world had to pay, then she would oblige.

“I know the consequences!” the Devout pleaded, eyes still fixed upon Lorelle with desperation so clear in everything about them. As if there was no way around it, or if they were just desperate for blood to be spilled in a display of Lorelle’s power. It was an addictive kind of spectacle, to watch as the blood slowly dripped from each orifice, new holes gaping in every exposed inch of flesh, bones cracking like twigs with an audible snap. She made these criminals into works of art. She made them beautiful for their crimes.. She had a way with these things, with creating beauty from even the worst and most twisted of things. “Please, Lorelle! You must help us with this! We fear that there is no other way to stop this from happening. So many gifts have been sullen by his touch, we don’t want him to taint anything else! You deserve only the finest.”

“Is it not your job to ensure that people like him don’t do what he is doing?” she asked, her voice slow and full of some kind of sick amusement, as if she found it entertaining that these people would do anything for her yet still pleaded for her to do their dirty work. “I am not your pest control. I am not the gun in your holster, the weapon to be your deterrent. I’m a Deity, you fickle creature. What will I get out of this if I complete this favour for you?” The smile still had yet to leave her lips, eyes fixing slowly on the Wretched held in place at the altar.  
“We offer you blood to spill!” still, the devoted was pleading. “It will aid us if you grant us this favour, and you can do as you wish to him for defiling your church! We beg of you!”

So, so desperate. 

The devoted always were so desperate; pleading and begging, their wide and desperate eyes fixing upon her. She could fix all of their problems, they knew that, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. If it was easy for them to follow her, then the appeal would be lost. There was no point doing something easy for a reward, if they worked hard and put effort in, they would feel far more valued for earning the same reward. They did have their charm, though, those humans with their pitiful pleading and helplessness. Some of them were barely able of adequate begging, and some even believed themselves better than the rest. The superiority complex woven into these humans was so pathetic, very few had the power and the influence they wore on their sleeves.

Lorelle was one of the few that acted superior because she was superior. Because she, unlike those foolish humans, was perfect. Pride.

So, in that moment, out of both generosity and eagerness- both being willing to aid her Devoted and wanting to kill this man for her own amusement- she nodded. She granted the Devoted their wish.  
“I will help,” she promised, a small smile on her lips. The Wretched at the altar squirmed more. The peril he was in had just dawned on him, it would seem. His eyes had widened, flicking from the her to the floor to those that held him in place. It was like a twisted sense of discomfort had filled him, chilling his bones and sending ice through his veins. It gnawed at him from the inside out, chewing him apart, beginning to fester a paranoia in his brain. She could almost breathe it in, revel in his anxiety, get high from his nervousness. And the fun? It hadn’t even begun.

He was imagining every possible thing she could do to him, giving her new ideas that she hadn’t contemplated yet. She had to admit that that human brain had some intriguing intrusive thoughts.

“What is the issue?” she asked, addressing him directly as she began her approach. Her voice was a slick purr- low, malicious. Excited in the worst way. “You brought this upon yourself.” Oh, how she delighted in reminding him that. “You knew that there would be consequences one way or another. Yet still, you sinned again and again. You earned your place here. You earned your fate.”

 

The Wretched, still being held back, managed to meet her with a glare. He was using anger to cover up the fearful way his mind reeled. Cute.  
“You’re a monster,” he snarled in an animalistic sort of fury. He began to squirm and to thrash but the Devoted held strong, grateful to be this close to their deity. “You’re no God! You’re nothing but a man with an ego!” Perhaps that was how he pictured her. A man, evidently, but one who was no more than those around him. Was she short in his eyes? Skinny? Dirty and poor? The thought of it disgusted her.

It invoked a growing irritation, an anger that stirred in the pit of her stomach. She knew that he was nothing compared to her, that even if he insulted her he would never be as good as she was, no matter how hard he tried, but still her wrath saw that it could get free. Her wrath compelled her, overcame her. It snaked its way through her body, wrapping her up in it's scaly skin.  
“And you?” she asked, words tainted as they curled into a snarl, a sound of disgust and hatred. “What are you? Someone who steals and sins, who sullies with his touch? Who does as he pleases where he isn’t wanted? You are one of the Wretched, the blind, those who don’t know what they’re missing out on. Those who, if they opened their eyes, could live a better life with me as their ruler. You are a coward with a temper. You could have been more, so much more.”

Her words grew more and more perverted, woven in with emotions she couldn’t decipher from one another.  
“You could have been one of my Devoted. You could have become one of my Honoured with enough time and devotion, if you had only trusted me and my will. My desires. If you had become more than an Honoured, you could have stood by my side. I could have learned your name if you proved yourself useful enough. Instead, you dug yourself a grave with a shovel made of my gold, stolen from my shrine. And now…” her lips tugged into a grin far wider than any human skin would stretch. Her teeth were suddenly sharper- sharpened to points. They could pierce leather at the slightest bit of pressure. Her snake pupil had thinned, golden yellow tainted with amber, beginning to stain crimson.

She was priming herself for the kill.

“You’re no God!” shouted the Wretched again, opening his mouth to shout again, to hurl more vocal projectiles at her, to insult and degrade again- but no noise came out. Lorelle’s wrath had taken full advantage of her and poisoned her systems. All she had done was shot out her hand, and from this distance he looked fine- but the Devoted stood around him screamed at the state of his chest and released him. He wouldn’t be able to move anyway, not without experiencing unimaginable agony.

His skin had not burst. No blood was spilled, not even a drop, but each individual organ in his body had ruptured, one by one. His ribs turned to gelatin, his heart was the only thing left in tact, designed to drag out each, excruciating moment . The bones had lost form and shape, pressing against skin and crushing his lungs- but still, not one drop of crimson left him.. Not, by any case, until he began to choke and splutter as blood dribbled past his cracked lips. The room was silent for the exception of her foot tapping the perfect beat to keep him alive, the melody to her song coming from the chorus of sounds the man gave.. She kept him alive, preventing his death, curling the fingers of her outstretched hand into a fist. She watched him with a never ending grin, as his body lost its shape and each individual vertebrae was pushed from his spine into his dying organs, as the veins burst inside of him, as his muscle tissue liquified and boiled.  
Oh, what a beautiful sight. It filled Lorelle with adrenaline, excitement, making her grin and giggle at the sight all her Devoted squirmed away from. Perhaps that was what drove them to support her, not love of her, but fear.

It didn’t matter to her. They loved her, they gave her gifts to appease and sate her. That was all that mattered.

Finally, though, she unclenched her fist. She released it, finger by finger, slowly. The pain seemed to marginally get better, Just for a few moments. Just for a few measly seconds, before she clicked her fingers deftly and the bones solidified again, cracking and piercing his skin, as he popped, like a pretty balloon, spraying the room a deep shade of red, changing him so he could no longer be recognised as a person. Never once did she touch his head, leaving it in perfect form, with the exception of his now liquid brain. His legs had bent forwards, each kneecap moving to the back of his leg, his hips shattering into porcelain shards. No longer was he beautiful. No longer was he anything more than a lump of splintered bones and flesh. Everything that made him human, his stance his fingerprints, all his individuality, gone. Splattered like his blood, to be cleaned up and forgotten.

Never to live and breathe again. But Lorelle didn’t mind, the world would live on with one less Wretched. The world would be better with one less bastard in her way.


	2. Out Of Nowhere

If anyone were to walk past Daniel on the street, he probably would have passed by without a glance shot his way. They wouldn’t have noticed a single thing about him that was out of the ordinary enough for them to care.

He looked pretty typical for a nineteen year old, blond hair, darker at the roots, with an undercut. He had grey eyes and pale skin, as if he hadn’t left the house in months, and his lips were cursed with an ever-present smile. He often wore ripped black jeans with a button-up shirt tucked into it, typically also black, chains hooked from the loops of his belt. Dirty sneakers scratched and scuffed along the floor as he worked. The only reason people would usually stare was if he was with his boyfriend, Nate, who was his polar opposite.

Not only was Nate a solid foot taller than Daniel and far more muscular, but he also seemed to be endlessly smiley. He’d often keep one arm fixed around Daniel’s waist, clinging to him as if just some idle way to show affection no matter where they were. His eyes, tight coils of hair, and smooth skin were dark, though his eyes shined as if he’d never been happier in his life than when he was with Daniel. He often wore blue jeans with curled ankles and yellow shirts or sweaters, clean sneakers. 

It was quite a jarring shock to see the two of them together; Daniel, who looked just about ready to pull a knife on anyone who breathed in his direction, walking hand in hand with Nate, who was more than happily to stop off for hours to talk to anyone about anything. 

But that was it. If you saw the two wandering through town, you’d shrug it off and keep walking. There couldn’t have been a single person who would have seen Daniel and his sunshine boyfriend and realised, or assumed, that they were the ringleaders of a cult.

That must have made them perfect for it.

Daniel had earned the position from his late father, who had died earlier that year. He was born into the cult lifestyle, though his father had always been so lovingly enamoured with Lorelle, captivated by her- by someone he imagined to be his dream woman, some blonde white whatever like the last few girlfriends he’d had. Daniel never quite imagined Lorelle the same way- in his eyes, Lorelle wasn’t some dainty perfect woman. She had existed as some threat, some bulking woman with muscular arms and scars, who he imagined to smell of alcohol and solve problems with her fists. She was like every horrible, violent man in his life but pushed together and turned into a woman. He hated it.

And Daniel hadn’t wanted to devote himself to her. He’d never been interested in her in any way- much less one that resembled some form of attraction- and instead grew intrigued by her power. By the capabilities she held. By that energy which made her untouchable to all and more powerful than everyone on earth combined. He was addicted to the idea of that energy, not to the idea of her. 

So the cult had begun. His father had already had a following, though all previously involved members had left upon finding out that Daniel was the one taking over. He couldn’t blame them- he’d have banned them shortly after either way. There was no room for monsters like them.

Not even Nate knew of the atrocities they had committed.

And now he was in charge. He was the leader of his own cult- he liked that name for it, despite all the stigma. It was a cult, after all, and he had recruited six to stand beside him. 

Four of those recruited were in the car, with one extra who had been a part of the cult since his father was in charge.

The first, and most obvious, was Nate. His loving boyfriend who seemed to have an endless amount of patience and an abundance of love; so much so, in fact, that he loved being obnoxiously affectionate regardless of where they were or what they were doing. Always holding him, kissing him, talking to him. As much as Daniel found himself liking it, having been deprived of such affection, he couldn’t help but find himself irritated by the clinginess.

Nate was two years older than him, twenty-three, and had yet to find a job that he was happy with. He seemed to prioritise happiness over everything else, which was something Daniel found frustrating and confusing- not only because he found it hard to believe that anyone could be that happy, but also because he didn’t see why someone pursuing happiness would also pursue him. 

The seat behind him contained a small kid, sixteen, named Ike. He sank into the seat made of quicksand, slumped back and receding into his baggy clothes as if that would help hide him. The poor thing was so riddled with anxiety that he seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack just sitting there, knowing about their upcoming task, tears in his green eyes as he gripped onto his seat, digging his bitten down nails into it. He had been pretty easy to manipulate into joining the cult, keeping him there had been the real challenge. He was the youngest, the smallest, the weakest. And there were some pretty intimidating people involved.

The first and most notable example, aside from Daniel himself, was Tarek, who sat behind Nate’s seat.

Tarek was built with more muscle than necessary. He was in his early thirties, the oldest member of the cult, and the most intimidating. He was almost always armed in some manner or another, his pale skin littered in scars big and small from all kinds of fights and incidents. He never lost his scowl unless someone was being hurt. He may well have been the reason for Ike’s trembling, in fact. Daniel would have sympathised if he cared.

Between them was an empty seat- they’d had to leave that chair empty for two reasons. The first reason was that if they couldn’t have brought Gwennyth or Lenys (the final two members of the cult) along with them. Gwennyth couldn’t have come for this bit because she’s blind and if Lenys had come, she would have been unsupervised, which was pretty risky. The manor they lived in was a dangerous place. The other reason…

They’d get to that.

That second reason, in fact, was the reason why Layten and Conscienta sat in the back. Layten was proficient at dark magic and other forms of evil, little manifestations of darkness solely to give him a taste of power. On his lap, sat shackles and chains with sigils scribed into them, covering every inch of the metal. He looked down at them over the tip of his hooked nose, his blond hair slicked back to stay out of his face for maximum focus. His eyes had begun to glow an unnatural purple instead of their typical grey after prolonged involvement with dangerous dark magic.

Conscienta was the brains, his other half, and she did the research that aided his work. She was someone obsessed with knowledge, someone who wanted to know everything and anything that she could devour. She usually had her nose buried in a book, but now she had a cage on her lap with birds in- the poor creatures whose lives would have to be exchanged for the spell Layten was going to cast. She had dark skin and curly black hair with a purple streak. She wore purple lipsticks and thick layers of mascara, usually wearing casual and comfy clothes to aid her focus, devoted more to her education than her appearance.

There the two of them sat, their hands together, their fingers intertwined. Their loving gazes were fixed on one another as they quietly discussed their plans under the blare of the radio music. What they were going to do, how, what they’d do if the birds weren’t enough for a large scale plan, sharing soft kisses between murmurs as if they needed to remind each other that they loved each other every few seconds. That was why Daniel had put them in the far back- so that he wouldn’t hear them smacking their lips together behind him every few minutes. Even if seeing Tarek in the corner of his eye set him on edge.

And Daniel drove, swerving around corners with reckless abandon that jostled everyone in the car. He knew where he was going, they all did.

There was a site where Lorelle did her weekly meditation. It was a way for her to sleep- a way for her to rest and recharge that compressed a week’s sleep into one hour, two at most. Today, Saturday, was the day for her to rest. And rest she did, sitting under a great blackthorn tree in a silk gown. It was white, as if to symbolise the purity she didn’t possess, flowing around her as her eyes glowed a soft gold. This field was secluded, nobody dared enter, and Lorelle often teleported there to ensure that nobody knew where she was while she was in such a vulnerable state.

But she hadn’t accounted for Layten, who had tracked her with his dark magic and followed the wisp of magic until he found her here. They came for the next few weeks to be sure that this was truly where she rested, that it didn’t change often, but she seemed to be the most content under the blooming spring blackthorn in the warmth of the sun. She was beautiful under the glow of the sun, but none of those in the car saw her that was. Especially not Daniel, who swerved onto the field and parked beside her. She was undisturbed in her state of meditation, not even seeming to notice the rumble of the old engine of Daniel’s car. 

Which made this a lot easier.

Daniel was the first out, but Nate stayed in the car. Tarek got out, followed by Layten and Conscienta, but Ike stayed in the car. His knees were to his chest now, and he hugged them tighter. Something about this operation didn’t sit right, but he couldn’t comment or complain. He didn’t want to speak out of turn. Tarek was intimidating him- he didn’t want to risk upsetting a man so capable of so many horrible things.

Layten stood in front of Lorelle, holding the shackles, but Tarek was the one to step out first. He grabbed ahold of her arms and tugged them out, causing her eyes to flicker back to normal. She began to pull back her wrists when the shackles clipped on. Her thoughts were still hazy from having just woken up and her eyes fixed on Tarek, who still held her, and Layten- who was now brandishing an open notebook.

A low growl began to rumble from her throat.  
“Remove these!” She snarled. “You know that shackles won’t be able to hold a being like myself! Remove them before I melt them and tear your spine out of your back with my bare hands!”

Tarek flashed her a nasty grin.  
“Sorry, darlin’,” he purred to her as he gripped tighter to her wrists. She tried to tug them back, pulling with so much force that it almost tugged Tarek forward, but he dug his heels into the floor and didn’t let her have power over him. Like hell he’d let anyone have power over him, ‘deity’ or not. Tarek began to speak, holding the cage of birds in one hand as he held up his notebook.

“Piège ce monstre. Drainez son pouvoir,” he began in a loud and commanding voice. Lorelle’s face flickered with confusion- before the shackles began to glow and hissed as they stung her flesh. She immediately began to pour power into them to sizzle them off of her flesh, to burn them away or shatter them, but they just drank away at the power she poured in. And, naturally, unused to her power being so feeble. This was just some human chain, there was no way it would have any power over her- but she didn’t seem to be able to burn it off the way she normally could have. It didn’t explode or even seem to work.

She was all powerful! What the fuck was going on? Who was this human? Who the hell did he think that he was?!  
“Last chance!” She snarled, though her words clearly had no effect. The birds in the cage were beginning to shriek, wings fluttering against the bars. This human’s eyes began to glow and she started to panic. Panic? What was she? She wasn’t some girl walking home alone at night. She wasn’t some human losing a fight. She wasn’t being held at gunpoint with a heart that could stop beating. She was Lorelle, a goddess, she was everything. No human would ever defeat her like this, so she tugged and pulled at her wrists and kicked at the muscular human that held her in place.

“Leech loin de sa vie. La lier. La lier!” The other human shouted still, the chains around her beginning to burn her flesh, searing into it as they leached out more and more energy. It was beginning to get painful- almost agonising. She began to tremble, still squirming and thrashing, noticing the growing audience of viewers. There were four humans around her, watching her in such a pathetic state. She bared her teeth, her sharp fangs, as if they’d work as a threat instead.  
“You’re all animals!” She snarled, digging the heel of her bare foot into the human’s stomach. He didn’t even flinch.

She tugged at her wrists still, pulling at them so sharply that her arms were almost tugged out of their sockets- but still the man didn’t let go.

“Piège ce monstre. Drainez son pouvoir,” repeated the human. “Leech loin de sa vie. La lier. La lier!” 

The birds in their cage shrieked, fluttered, and then began to die. She could feel it, their bodies beginning to lose energy as it was forced into the human’s words instead.  
“Nous avons le pouvoir ici. Nous prenons ce que vous avez volé aux autres!” And with one last spark of energy, a blinding pain shot through Lorelle’s body and a scream tore from her lips. Her vision was temporarily blinded with the same flash of light and her body slumped back, almost hitting the tree but Tarek’s hold on her wrists stopped her body from tilting too far back.

He grabbed her by the waist to lift her up, hoisting her over his shoulder.  
“For a deity, that was pretty fucking easy,” he remarked with a grin. Layten, discarding the cage to the bottom of the tree where Lorelle had been, nodded.   
“I thought there would have been more resistance,” he said, beginning back to the car. Tarek looked over at him and the two seemed to share that moment of agreement, and Daniel almost groaned. Of course Layten got along perfectly with Tarek, the two were so insufferable that it was only natural they’d enjoy each others company.

He didn’t say anything in response as he returned to the car, getting in the front. Tarek threw Lorelle in beside Ike, who had shrieked in a similar manner to the birds, pushing her back until she sat upright enough to support herself. Layten and Conscienta returned to the back seat and Tarek got in last. Despite his temptation to drive off, Daniel let Tarek get in and shut the door behind himself before he started to drive.  
“Put her seatbelt on her,” he said as he began pulling out of the field. Ike didn’t move, so Tarek clipped her seatbelt in place. “We didn’t go through the effort of getting her so that she could die somehow on the drive back.”

Nate was oddly quiet for once, one hand reached over to settle on Daniel’s thigh while he drove. Daniel didn’t respond to it, keeping his eyes on the empty roads as they began back to the manor. It was only a thirty minute drive, but twenty minutes of that was through woodlands and overgrown forestry. In the middle of that forest was Daniel’s home, Erigo Manor. His father had made sure that it was secluded for a lot of reasons. None of which Daniel wanted to get into.

The drive back was mostly silent, save for the radio. The only thing that disturbed that was if Lorelle would groan as she was jostled around in the backseat, but nobody paid too much attention to her.

When they arrived, Daniel slid out of his seat and began to the door, Nate following close behind. He left Tarek to collect Lorelle with Layten and Conscienta following close behind. Ike, still shaking, trailed back behind the group, not getting too close, eyes kept on the floor.

They pushed the door open.

“You’re home!” Cried a voice from inside, soft and sweet, belonging to Gwennyth. She was in Lorelle’s room-to-be, fixing every detail that she could and asking Lenys if it looked good. Lenys, the one who could actually see what Gwennyth was doing, was in charge of directing her where to put each thing and how to make the room look as good as it needed to be. Lorelle was still a Goddess, whether or not she’d be a kidnapped one. “Do you have her?” Gwennyth came dashing out of the room, familiar enough with her surroundings to know where to go. Lenys came dashing out after her, though, and hooked an arm around her waist before she ran into a table that had just been set up in the living room- a surgical table, though with cuffs for the wrists, ankles, and waist.

Gwennyth turned to where she assumed Lenys was stood, smiling bashfully.  
“The table,” she said, having already been warned about it. “I forgot. Thanks.”

Lenys pulled back, turning to look at the group.  
“You got her?” she asked, seeing Tarek duck through the doorway with an unfamiliar body over his shoulder. A grin curled onto her lips. “Fucking awesome. Come on, let’s bring her through to her room. She can wake up there.”  
“She was really fucking easy!” Tarek said as he began through, letting out a sharp barking laugh. “All bark and no bite, I swear. She said she was going to rip out my spine or something, but she couldn’t even get her hands out of my grip.” 

Gwennyth began back through to the bedroom, one hand out to feel for the doorframe so she wouldn’t walk into a wall or anything again, but she managed to track her way back into the bedroom without much effort and moved to sit on the queen sized bed. Tarek came in and lay Lorelle down beside her, by the wall, not dropping her simply to avoid upsetting Gwennyth. God knows the kind of meltdown she’d have if someone did anything to Lorelle.

She had been the second person recruited to the cult, the first being Nate. After joining, she’d brought in Conscienta, who dragged Layten, followed by Ike and Lenys. Because of this, she was pretty important- Daniel was protective of her and Nate looked after her like they were her older brothers. Lenys, too, had taken to supervising her, hence why she had stayed home to look after her. Layten didn’t care too much about her and nor did Tarek, but Conscienta also put in effort to make sure she was safe.

Gwennyth had been easy to get to join the cult, though. She’d been blind her whole life, the poor thing, and had fallen entirely in love with the idea of Lorelle just from hearing about her capabilities and rumours of her beauty. All she ever spoke about was how she longed for Lorelle to visit her church, to acknowledge her shrine, to accept her gifts- even if they weren’t expertly done, like most others. She simply wanted to give everything to Lorelle, who she worshipped with every part of her being. She had been easy to persuade- just a promise that they’d find her, that they’d bring her there, and alluding to the idea of Lorelle giving Gwennyth her eyesight and some attention.

Lenys’ motivations had been unclear, however. He hadn’t known what to expect from her- all he knew was that she’d heard of the cult somewhere and joined without giving it too much thought. Perhaps it had been a joke to her, something unimportant, uninteresting, that she hadn’t expected to pique her curiosity to this extent. But here she was, involved, putting in effort for the cult.

They all had their reasons why they wanted Lorelle here. Gwennyth was the only person whose reason was transparent. Everyone else kept their secret under wraps, like it was something sinful and dirty to be kept behind closed doors. But Gwennyth, she had no reason to keep her secrets to herself. She had no reason not to tell everyone that she was in love with Lorelle, that she wanted to be with Lorelle, to feel her skin and play with her hair and tell her how much she loved her.

And as Lorelle was lain down, Gwennyth immediately moved closer to the dip she felt in the bed. Her hand felt around the soft sheets until the felt the body beside her. Her hand had found Lorelle’s stomach, and carefully she ran her fingertips along the silk. She traced along Lorelle’s collarbone, her smooth skin so perfect, so delicate, polished like a china vase or perfect porcelain, though she only wished she could see what Lorelle looked like. Not even if she tried could she picture anything that would amount up to how beautiful Lorelle surely was. After a while, she had given up on trying to imagine.

So she simply ran her fingers through Lorelle’s hair, feeling her smooth skin and running her fingers through Lorelle’s silken strands of hair. Being so close to her, even like this, it felt intimate. Personal. It was intoxicating to be able to breathe in Lorelle’s scent, the same air as Lorelle breathed. She had never felt quite so elated- was this how Lenys felt after she smoked? Was this the bliss that only drugs could stimulate for most? Gwennyth wouldn’t know- all that she did know was that she’d never felt as perfect as this. This was where she was supposed to be. This was where she always should have been.

“Did she fight?” she asked, having not heard any footsteps that would signify that Tarek had left. He adjusted how he was stood, shifting his weight. She could hear the floor creaking under him and the clothes rustling as he moved.  
“A little,” he said after a few moments.  
“And was she scared?”   
“A little.”

Gwennyth turned her head, her empty blue eyes fixing on where the voice had come from- her gaze fixing on Tarek. Her pupils were white where she was cursed with blindness, and Lenys had dyed Gwennyth’s hair a pastel blue to match. Her skin was pale and her cheeks seemed constantly flushed- though now they were darker than usual, her cheeks reddening with anger. Her brow creased, her beautiful face contorting into an expression of rage.  
“And yet still, you treated her like this?!” she shouted, enraged- insulted on Lorelle’s behalf. “She is a deity! She is superior to us all! Even as she fought and she showed fear, you refused to let her go?! You didn’t try to explain to her that this was best? That we were only trying to help?!”

Tarek shrugged a little. When Gwennyth got like this, it was best to let her tire herself out. As tempted as he was to tell her that she’d been fed lies, that they weren’t going to help Lorelle and they were going to use her, he didn’t want to take that risk. Daniel had lied to her about this for a reason, and everyone else had enforced that lie until Gwennyth had genuinely believed that Lorelle was here to be supported and loved, so her powers could be developed. Surely, it was a harmless lie. It would be, anyway, until Gwennyth heard Lorelle’s agonised screams the following day. Then it would be an obvious lie.

“Answer me!” Gwennyth shouted, not seeing Tarek and not knowing that she should have been intimidated by him. She didn’t see him as a threat because she didn’t see him at all- she knew not of his scars, his muscles, or anything else that could possibly have indicated to his character. She only knew of his voice- the country drawl that could be traced back to America. Daniel had mentioned once or twice that his father had moved to England a few months after he’d been born and every penny his father had stolen went into making this house. Then he’d fallen in love with Lorelle, the same way Gwennyth had- though that monster was nothing to her. He loved for appearances and for lust. Gwennyth loved Lorelle for everything, unbiased by appearance.

Tarek shrugged again, even if all Gwennyth would hear was rustling clothes.  
“She wouldn’t have listened,” he said. “I’ll avoid upsetting her next time, I guess. Sorry.”

Apologies from Tarek were rare, so Gwennyth’s anger faded and she offered up a small smile, turning her focus back to Lorelle and brushing the hair from her face again.  
“Good,” she said. “She’ll guide us one day. She’s everything. One day, we will die and she will use our essence, the stardust we leave behind, to build her energy. Maybe, for all that we do, she will hold our essence close…”

‘The poor thing must be deluded,’ Tarek concluded as he muttered some half-assed agreement and turned on his heel to leave. ‘The wretch she treated so tenderly would never be anything but a monster.’

And as he left, he passed Daniel and Nate’s bedroom. It was on the right of Lorelle’s room, about three times the size of it- though that was more because Lorelle had a small room than because Daniel had a big room. Inside, Daniel sat back on his bed with Nate beside him.  
“Is this really necessary?” asked Nate again, running his thumb over Daniel’s knuckles as they held hands. He had asked this same, dull question time and time again.  
“What was unclear the last time I answered?” Daniel asked, his voice a little sharper than usual as he slumped back and turned his eyes to the ceiling, feeling some dull irritation at the repetitive question.  
“I don’t know,” Nate said, laughing softly. “All of it? Why do you need to snatch up some goddess? You still haven’t told me what you hoped to achieve for this.”

Daniel turned his eyes to Nate, gritting his teeth.  
“Nathan, I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t want to go into it. I’m not going to talk to you about it until I’m ready. Can’t you just fucking leave it?”

Nate’s arms snaked around Daniel’s waist and he pulled him close again, smiling up at him.  
“Alright, grumpy,” he teased. “Come on, we’ll focus on something else for a while. When she wakes up, you can go talk to her but I’m going to stay here.” He tugged Daniel slowly down to lie beside him, pressing into the crook of his neck and closing his eyes. “And we have a while until then, don’t we? What did Layten say? Thirty minutes?”  
“Forty.”  
“See? Forty minutes just for us to relax.”

And Nate successfully managed to get Daniel to lie down with him. He ran his fingers through Daniel’s blond hair and closed his eyes, pressing a few kisses to his head through his hair.  
“I’m leaving when she’s awake, though,” he reminded Nate as he moved just a little close, nestled into the crook of Nate’s neck.   
“I know,” Nate said to him, smiling a little. “But I’ll take the time I can get.”


	3. You're Nothing Without Fire

Shooting awake with a gasp and a jolt, Lorelle found herself in an unfamiliar environment.

The room around her was small- two metres wide and three metres long, with a single door at the foot of the bed- the bed that took up most of the room. There was a rack of double doors to the left of the bed, which was pushed up against the right wall, and Lorelle imagined that it was a closet. The bed she found herself sat upon, queen sized, was covered with plush velvety sheets, a deep royal blue with golden thread lining and embroidery. It was… unfamiliar.

She tried to move her hand- only for chains to rattle and her eyes to widen, snapping down to the grey chains that bound her wrists. She frowned, tugging at them- before studying the sigils engraved and realising the power that they held. Energy binding, draining, blocking, were the most commonly occurring three marks. The other sigils being repeated simply stopped the chains from being removed by anyone non-human, meaning she couldn’t even undo them herself, and prevented them from being broken. There was no way to get them off- so she would divert her thoughts elsewhere for now. She wouldn’t focus on the cream walls or the varnished white floorboards. She wasn’t going to fixate on the sigils littered around the doorway to stop her from leaving through there alone, to prevent her from breaking the door, etcetera. She scanned the room to find something to focus on-

And her eyes landed on the figure next to her. Asleep, though she didn’t know how long the girl had been there. Was she a Deranged? She didn’t seem to be. Appearances were deceiving, though, and soon Lorelle was shaking the girl awake.  
“You,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding as the girl began to stir, pushing up- before processing what was happening. Her eyes widened with realisation and she turned to focus on Lorelle. The girls body had turned to face her, but her eyes had fixed on the wall an inch or so away from her face. “Where am I?”

The girl paused, listening out for anyone around her- the rustling of clothes, creaking of floorboards, even the shallowest breaths- but when she heard nothing she realised that Lorelle had been speaking to her.  
“Me?” she asked, as if just ensuring that Lorelle was speaking to her.  
“Is there anyone else here? Am I looking at anyone else? Are you blind? Of course I’m talking to you.”  
“Ah… I... I am actually blind,” she confessed after a few moments, her gaze falling downcast as if out of shame. Lorelle didn’t respond for a few moments.

“Answer my question,” she said as if to distract from her mistake. Gwennyth nodded quickly.  
“Erigo manor,” she answered quickly. “Daniel’s house. It’s a three-story house in the middle of the woods, it’s secluded. He wanted you to come here- but… I wasn’t told all of the details, so I can’t give up much information. I’m sorry. I’m- I was supposed to shout for him when you woke up, though, so if you want someone to explain it to you a little better then he’d be there to hear it. Okay? He has everything planned out, this was all his idea.”

Even while she was somewhere like here, there would always be someone who would follow her commands and tell her what she demanded to know. This girl was no Deranged, surely. She must have been a Devoted, a loyal follower in the wrong place, but one glance at the chains proved otherwise.  
“And how long has it been?” Lorelle questioned then, her eyes drifting to the small rectangular window in her room- too small to get through, though she was sure that that was intentional.   
“Since you arrived? I… I believe it’s been four hours. Are you feeling alright? Hungry, thirsty? I can get you something if you need it- I’m sure Daniel just stocked up for the next few months, too, so we should have enough of everything…”

Lorelle smiled patiently.  
“I’ll be fine,” she said, her chains rattling as she moved one hand to cup Gwennyth’s jaw- delicately, only barely holding onto her. She watched a lot of emotions cross the girl’s face in that moment- confusion at an unfamiliar touch, then realisation, and then almost overwhelming eagerness. And in response to something so little as a fist tipping her head up and a thumb on her chin? Perhaps this girl was a Deranged afterall. “Why don’t you go and fetch your ringleader, hm? I have a few words I want to exchange with him. I’m sure he has some things that he wants to say to me, too, or I wouldn’t be here.”

The Deranged-Devoted girl pushed up from the bed, stumbling as her leg turned out to be caught in the bedsheets from where she’d gotten comfy overnight, but nonetheless managed to stumble her way to the door. She turned to look at Lorelle- who could now get a proper view of her. Caucasian, average build, with red patches on her skin and long nails. She wore a blue off the shoulder sweater and black jeans, with her blue hair curled tightly and those unnatural eyes. She was pretty interesting for a human- it was rare to see a human with oddly coloured hair or some form of disability. Though, perhaps that had just been her churches. It was rare that she looked for people outside of that.

“I’ll only be a few moments! Please, get comfortable.” And with that, the girl turned and disappeared out of the doorway. When the door clicked shut behind her, the sigils around it flickered with a dull white glow before fading, signifying that they were in effect. That answered one of Lorelle’s questions at least- the sigils did work, and quite well at that if she could already feel them repelling her from the door. That would prove to be a challenge so long as she had those shackles binding her.

It didn’t matter. It was only a matter of weeks before her magic adapted and she was able to get out of this situation with little effort. There was no harm in entertaining herself with these people while she was here. Besides- they were human. What harm could they do? She’d only truly had one experience of human evil before in her long life, and she doubted that these people would show cruelty to the extent she knew it from.

And just as she was beginning to settle back on the bed, the door was pushed open and a boy entered. Someone had tried to follow him in, but the boy had turned and given him a kiss on the cheek and promised to come out soon. Before then turning to focus properly on Lorelle. She could almost envision how she looked to him, checking that her perception filter still retained its power over people when she didn’t. Thankfully, though, he still seemed to view had as some brutish woman instead.

Her true appearance was something intimate, unshared. Even if it cost her almost all of her remaining energy, she kept that perception filter up, untainted, unharmed. Without even a chance of someone breaking it.

“Lorelle,” came the voice from the boy, sharp and irate, as if she’d already gotten on his nerves without doing anything. Perhaps he just had a short temper. It didn’t matter either way- Lorelle met his gaze with a glare, simply returning the malicious look he was giving her.  
“Save me the wasted time and tell me why I’m here so that I can leave.”  
“Wasted time? Oh, my apologies your highness but that’s not how things are going to work.”

His words were slick, slow, smooth and coaxing like tar dripping down a wall- heavy with restrained feeling but still slow, controlled almost, cautious. Descending down toward either a chasm of sinister intent. He was short in stature, approximately five foot and two inches, with scrawny arms and bruised knuckles, bringing with him the strong scent of nicotine and tobacco that poisoned the room. It was some sticky scent that clung to him and every inch of exposed clothing, his skin, his fingers, and seemed to spill from his mouth with each breath as if he was still puffing out billowing streams of smoke.

Unfazed by the vile fumes that filled the air, Lorelle kept her eyes fixed on this new stranger. She had been alive long enough now that she’d smelled worse things than a little burnt tobacco.  
“Then, pray tell, how do you expect things to work? All things considered- my being a god, your being a weak human- I don’t think that the sides are totally even.”

The words must have stirred some amusement for Daniel, something about Lorelle’s challenge just being thrilling. He couldn’t imagine how she felt, in an unfamiliar environment, restrained, essentially helpless, yet still trying to be a threat. Still insisting that she had control over the situation when she’d never had control over it in the first place.  
“Oh, you mean to ask how things are going to work? Listen.” He approached the bed, putting one foot on the edge of the bed and learning close. “There are eight of us. One of whom is me, another of whom made those shackles that you can’t use. Just the two of us could do quite a bit of damage, but we’ve also got the man that grabbed you and stopped you from escaping. That’s just three of eight. You wouldn’t be able to get the better of just three of us, let alone the other five.”

He grinned as he looked at Lorelle, a little grin curling onto his lips. She glared still.  
“And your attempt to intimidate me?” she asked, baring her teeth. “What’s that supposed to achieve? All you’re doing is irritating me and digging yourself a grave too deep to crawl out of.”  
“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” Daniel cupped her jaw, digging his nails in a little. “I’m giving you fair warning. I want something from you. We all do, here. We want something or we wouldn’t be here.”

She cocked a brow. Amused. Intrigued, perhaps, at what his motives could be. About what he could want so desperately that he’d kidnap her- someone of her stature, her strength, her fame. Within a week of her absense, there would be three hundred people at minimum hunting her down again. Her devoted would be searching for her. They would comb every inch of the country to hunt her down, searching for her. If she couldn't get out of these cuffs by then, she’d be saved by her many, many followers.

And then this Deranged might have to face the wrath of hundreds of Devoted who were derived of their deity. He would be torn apart, piece my piece, flesh chunks being dug out by dirty fingernails until he screamed, until he felt nothing but agony fading away into the total nothingness of the abyss his death would condemn him to.

The idea of it was so delicious, Lorelle was even considering doing it herself.

“Then, my darling Deranged,” she purred as she studied him, noting everything about his behaviour as if she’d be able to infer his emotion or some hidden insecurity- but he gave no opening, no sign of weakness. He just stood there. “Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what people want and I’ll decide whether or not I’m going to help.”  
“You don’t have the authority here,” Daniel said with a small smile, as if he enjoyed reminding someone so powerful of their place. “I do. And I’m not going to tell you what I want until you’ve agreed to give it to me.”

Before she could stop herself, Lorelle began to giggle. She could almost see him clawing for power, desperately clutching to whatever inkling of authority he could get. She could see it slipping through his hands like sand with every word that slipped through his lips, with every demand or command that he thought of. But the mocking, the way she laughed at him, seemed to infuriate him. Perhaps, then, that would be the first real indication to any sort of an insecurity of weakness he might have.

“Stop laughing,” he snarled indignantly, clearly upset even if she was barely doing harm. Just expressing her amusement in the most natural way. “You have no authority here, no reason to laugh, nothing!” He approached her, curling his hands into fists. Still, she giggled, her eyes fixed on him.  
“Why not?” she asked, eyes shining with mischief. “Why can’t I laugh? I’ve not been so amused in centuries! Truly, there is nothing as funny as watching humans thinking that they could have any kind of power over me without offering anything in return! What would I get out of this? You steal my magic and give me what? A thanks? A smile? A kiss on the cheek and a sweet send off for when I go back home? 

Daniel’s eyes narrowed.  
“No, you’ll get to walk out of here unharmed,” he spat as he grabbed the low-cut collar of her dress, tugging her close. “We’ve figured out how to weaken you. We can do whatever the hell we want now. You’re either going to agree, grant us whatever we want, and then you can be back on your merry way, or you’re going to refuse and I’m going to beat the agreement out of you with the help of my friends.”

“And? You really expect that to work on me? You think that in all my years, I haven’t heard every threat? Faced every possible form of abuse?”  
“I’m not saying that,” he said, the nasty little smile curling onto his lips again. “I’m simply saying that you’ve not gone through it while being totally drained of all your little magic. You’re essentially human now. You’re going to hurt the same way we hurt, and we’re going to put you through unimaginable agony. Am I understood?”

Lorelle, seemingly processing the words, didn’t respond. Either she’d realised that he was right or she was mocking him under her breath.

 

Daniel straightened up and smiled.  
“Good.” He released her, pushing her back and wiping his hand off of himself as if she disgusted him. “Have fun in here. I’ll let the offer sit with you overnight while we get everything prepared.” He pulled open the door- before pausing and turning to her. He pointed to each corner of the room, and when her gaze followed she noticed the cameras that had been fastened to the corners. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

With a sense of pride, Daniel left- but Lorelle evidently wasn’t permitted any time alone, as a few moments later the blind girl came through. Gwennyth, that thug had called her- but names held no significance to Lorelle. She knew the name, she could associate it with the face, but to her Gwennyth would only ever be a Devoted. She clearly didn’t belong here, with these Deranged. She’d never seen anyone so devoted to her.

 

And Gwennyth approached the bed, feeling along the edge before she sat down on the end of it. She continued to run her hands along the sheets until she found the dip in the bed that indicated Lorelle’s presence.  
“Did Daniel explain everything?” she asked, smiling bright even with her downcast gaze. “I hope so… you’d know more than I do if he explained. They say that it’s not worth telling me what’s going on because I won’t be able to help much.”

“He did.” That confirmed the suspicions- this poor Devoted didn’t know what was truly happening here. She didn’t know anything past the fact that Lorelle was here. Oh, the poor thing… Lorelle would have told her about the truth if she cared. “But it wasn’t anything I haven’t heard before. Mm… You wouldn’t happen to know how to get these shackles off, would you? They’re uncomfortable.” If she downplayed the urgency, she was sure that this Devoted would act out of kindness for her- but the Devoted girl shook her head.  
“No, I… I’m sorry. I tried to convince Layten not to make them, then I tried to tell Daniel it wasn’t fair on you, but it didn’t work. All it did was ensure that I wouldn’t be told anything about how to get them off… I’ve already tried asking, too, but they didn’t answer me.”

She reached out, her hand finding Lorelle’s forearm and slowly moving toward the shackles, her hands resting on them.  
“I’d take them off if I could,” she promised tremulously, as if anxious that Lorelle would be upset with her for her failure to comply. “I’m sorry that I can’t…”

Lorelle watched the pathetic grovelling display and didn’t comment, but was a little more at ease knowing that she had someone on her side, someone who would seemingly do anything for her. She wanted to know who was here- she’d seen six of the people involved when she was taken, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted to know them, their aims, their desires. She wanted to know what they wanted from her and how they expected to get it. She wanted to know what their plans were with whatever they expected to get. She wanted to know what they were doing, what they were going to do, what they’d already done. She wanted to know every intimacy of the information they never shared. She wanted to know about them, to find their flaws and their imperfections, their perfections and their talents. She wanted to know where their confidence lay, where their self-consciousness manifested. 

She wanted to know everything about them so that she could unravel each of them piece by piece.

“It can be forgiven,” she said to the Devoted girl, though the kindness didn’t seep into her tone, causing the girl to begin to worry.  
“I don’t want to behave poorly for you,” she said quietly, almost seeming disappointed in herself. Oh, she would be too easy. Lorelle wouldn’t need to raise a finger to break the Devoted girl.  
“And you won’t, I’m sure. You’re Devoted, I wouldn’t expect you to fail me.” She moved her hand to the Devoted girls hair, running her fingers through it. “But I won’t stay. And if you don’t help me leave, how could I ever call you one of my Devoted? I’m not going to be happy here. Isn’t my happiness your priority?”

There was silence for a few moments where the Devoted girl didn’t answer.

“I can’t,” she said after a short while as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking self-comfort for her own inability to do as she was asked. “I can’t do that… I’m sorry! Forgive me! Daniel said it would be better for you if you stayed and… and he said if I really loved you I’d make sure that you stayed long enough to see the truth.”

Lorelle didn’t answer for a few moments.  
“Get out,” she spat, her voice suddenly full of anger. The Devoted girl’s eyes widened, shocked, as she reached out to grip onto Lorelle. Her hands found Lorelle’s dress, on her lap, and they curled into fists, bunching up the fabric in her tight hold. She was shaking now, the fragile thing. It truly was disgusting to see someone like this- so desperate for approval and validation but refusing to do what she needed to do to get it.

“Lorelle, please! I want to stay with you! I always want to stay with you!”  
“I told you to get out!”

Wrath seeped it's way into Lorelle’s blood, filling her with a rush of adrenaline and a lust for blood. Still, the Devoted girl didn’t leave, gripping Lorelle’s dress, tears beginning to well up in her glassy eyes. She was shaking so badly. The red of her teary eyes was a beautiful shine against the empty blue and the scarred white pupil, but Lorelle was so enraged at the nerve of this damned Devoted that her vision was growing red, too. Red with rage, with a need for blood, with unfiltered fury. Her anger surged through her but it didn’t bring with it a familiar rush of energy that signified her magic was primed for use.

It was a sharp reminder that she had no power. No magic. Not even a trace of it flowed through her system, provided it wasn’t being used to keep her alive. 

And the wrath faded. It had nothing to cling to, no magic to fuel it, so it just settled until it dissolved away into her blood, leaving nothing but a hollowness. An emptiness. A dull, aching realisation that she wasn’t herself just yet.  
“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Lorelle hissed to the Devoted girl, whose desperate pleads had faded away under the rushing of blood through her ears. “I wanted you to leave.”

But the girl just sobbed, feeling as though she’d disappointed the one creature she cared about the most.

And eventually, Lorelle stopped caring about the Devoted girl’s presence. She lay back on the plush covers and let the girl weep, ignoring her.

Her eyes fell upon the ceiling, glassing over as she frowned and began to grow tired, irate, depressed. Without the magic to keep her body sustained fully, she could feel the consequences of fatigue and hunger. She could feel how her throat grew dry and her eyelids weighed down as time passed.

“When will my meal arrive?” she asked the Devoted girl, whose weeping had begun to fade into nothing but choked sobs as she calmed.  
“I- I can ask Daniel…” she asked, her breathing hitching and shaking as she wiped her eyes. Tears still rolled down her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy. Lorelle had missed making people cry- it was such a simple sadistic pleasure but it was satisfying to crumble their walls until they broke down, helplessly sobbing and wailing. 

And the red that burned up under her eyes, puffing up, was a delicious shade. A nice contrast from the blue eyes and hair.  
“Then do that,” Lorelle said sternly, her golden eyes closing. “But first, I wish to get changed into something more comfortable, something to sleep in. Where are my clothes?”

“The closet…” the Devoted girl pushed up and began across the room, stumbling over a pillow that had fallen from the bed but not tripping, managing to get to the closet without much of a struggle. She pulled open the doors, stepped aside, and listened to Lorelle’s approaching footsteps- stepping a little further aside until she bumped into the opened door, just to ensure that Lorelle could freely look at her clothes.  
“And when will the chains be removed to allow me to change? Handcuffs do make it rather uncomfortable.”

The hesitation implied that the cuffs weren’t coming off. Oh, well. It was worth a try.

“Then how am I supposed to remove this dress?” Lorelle asked instead, arms folding over her chest even if the chains tugged taut.  
“I can help,” she offered after a few moments, her eyes fixing on Lorelle’s mouth, where the voice was coming from. Lorelle grimaced.  
“You? You don’t do anything for me but you’d be willing to strip me down and change my clothes? You wish you had the privilege! I am a deity, nobody sees my body without my permission.”

The Devoted girl nodded, her eyes drifting to the floor again out of shame.  
“I won’t be able to see any of you,” she promised softly. “And… I just figured that it was worth helping. You’ll either struggle to do it or someone else will come and help…”  
“And you expect that that would change my mind? I don’t need help from anyone.”  
“You… just told me that you would struggle… I was trying to help.” The Devoted girl seemed to be getting uncomfortable. Good.

Lorelle didn’t have time to waste on her.  
“Leave. Go talk to the ringleader about my meal. I’ll have changed by then, and if I haven’t you might be able to help.”

Lorelle took one of the satin gowns from the rack and removed it from the coathanger, sighing softly as she admired it.  
“It will have to do,” she said to herself, turning to glance over at the Devoted girl to remind her to leave, only for her to be missing. The room was empty, though, so Lorelle deemed it safe to begin tugging off her gown. It was loose fitting, and thankfully it wasn’t too difficult to remove- at the cost of a few rips along the sleeves, she was able to get it off in a few minutes. The satin nightgown she had chosen was a pastel kind of blue, tinted with grey, and had a rose pattern along the chest. Lorelle sighed as she smoothed it out, relieved that most of the dresses provided were elastic sleeveless or wouldn’t be too inconvenient to put on alone while wearing handcuffs- something she never thought she’d have to consider before.

And this gown was comfortable, anyway. Loose, relaxed fit, and allowed her plenty of breathing room. Even if the shackles were so tight they cut into her skin, she was a little relieved knowing that her clothes wouldn’t carry equal discomfort. She closed the closet and moved to her bed, settling down on the plush cushions and letting out a quiet sigh of content. 

In fact, she was just beginning to relax when the Devoted girl came back through.  
“Daniel said that Nate’s started cooking,” she explained as if Lorelle would know, or care, who those people were.   
“Any estimate to how long it will take?” she asked, hating the gnawing kind of irritation that stirred in her stomach at the thought of food. Was this the sensation of hunger she hadn’t felt in centuries? Was this was the humans had to deal with? Thank god for her powers, she’d not be able to cope with this insatiable sensation for long. She would hate it if some aching pain was her only sign that she needed food, the same with the scratchiness in her throat that implied she needed water.

It was just another reminder of the superiority that she held. When these shackles were off, she would be back to being her old self- powerful, ethereal, perfect. She wouldn’t be burdened with humanity or their weak desires. She would be herself again. She would be strong. Pride.

“It shouldn’t be long,” the Devoted girl answered her, smiling a little. Her eyes were still slightly red, and they held an unmentioned sadness in them- one that Lorelle once more chose to ignore. It wasn’t her burden to bear. She wasn’t going to be weighed down by how others felt, how others acted, how pitifully others behaved or the emotions that ruined them. Oh, how she despised the way humans were controlled by their emotions. Perhaps, though, that might have been an ironic sort of sentiment. Someone so compelled by rage that she kills without mercy being sickened by others compelled with emotion? And for what? Where was the difference? The blurred line? Where did the confusion lie? 

Who was she to announce her superiority dependant on what emotions controlled her compared to what emotions controlled others? Who was she to decide she was better than everyone for not fitting the mould she sculpted for them? Who was an artist to paint a portrait, only to declare superiority for having more dimensions? For existing? For living and breathing as a painting could not? 

The answer, though it may be stubborn or immature, was that she was herself. She was Lorelle. She was a goddess, superior by all definitions, better in every aspect. She could be whoever she wanted and judge as she pleased because she had the power.

“I asked for an estimated time.” She cut off her own thoughts, deciding to save her ramblings for when she was alone, for when overhearing ears wouldn’t make themselves privy to private information. The Devoted girl’s breath caught a little, as if Lorelle’s words had been a threat, and she nodded.   
“Sorry,” the apology tumbled past her lips so naturally, as if she’d grown so accustomed to apologising whenever she was accused, or spoken to rudely, or shamed or mocked. “I… I think he said it would be about thirty minutes, but that’s including dishing up and presentation. It takes time to create a proper meal, and… Nate’s a good cook. He’s not the best, but he puts a lot of effort into making a meal people will enjoy. I’m glad you’ll get to eat something cooked by him. He makes everything with love.”

Lorelle didn’t reply for a few moments. In fact, the whole idea of taking time to cook because of someone putting love into their cooking seemed to be utter shit. She’d never heard of something as redundant as making something ‘with love’, and hopefully she wouldn’t again.

“You’re blind,” Lorelle stated bluntly. The Devoted girl nodded.  
“I am,” she confirmed, as if that confirmation was necessary.  
“And if everyone sees me however they desire, how do you see me? You are blind, do you know what people look like enough to give me an image?”

There was quiet. Of course there was- Lorelle had asked a blunt question without consideration or hesitation. There was going to be some kind of a reaction or a hesitation on the behalf of the one being questioned. But the girl, the blind Devoted girl, she had never been asked such a question. She’d never given much thought to it on her own terms either. She thought of Lorelle, sure, but was she supposed to know exactly how? What Lorelle embodied to her? No analogy, no metaphor, no simile or description could ever begin to cover what Lorelle was to her.

 

“What do you want me to say?” she asked after a few moments of thinking. “I have been blind my whole life, I don’t have a face to attach to your name. I don’t have a description or an image, just an idea of how smooth your skin feels and how your voice sounds. I don’t know the structure of your face enough to construct an image. I don’t know the colour of your eyes, and even if I knew the colour by name I wouldn’t know it by appearance. I could imagine you as anything, but I don’t know how accurate my imagination could be, and no image I assign to you fits.”

Lorelle watched as the Devoted girl approached the bed, settling on the edge of it, falling silent. The question had truly perplexed her. How was anyone supposed to answer a question like that? A question they never would have heard before or even given thought to.

“Give me time to think of how I can answer that,” the Devoted girl soon said, a frown on her lips and confusion in her furrowed brow. “I’ll find an answer, but… nobody’s asked me anything like that before.”

Lorelle, figuring that her curiosity would be sated eventually, nodded to give Gwennyth as long as she needed to figure it out.  
“Thirty minutes before dinner,” Lorelle said, her eyes fixing upon the ceiling above her. “Were you told what I’m going to eat? I only accept the best, I don’t want to receive anything less.”  
“Ah… roast pork, I think,” the Devoted girl said as she pushed back onto the bed, crossing her legs. “With assorted vegetables, bread rolls, and I think you’ve got wine to drink. It’s your first night, they want you to feel welcome, so Nate’s putting a lot of effort into making you a good meal.”  
“As he should.”

Lorelle’s gaze drifted about the room. It was small. Comfortable, but not enough for her needs. She never had to stay in a room this small- not in centuries, by any chance. She hated being in a room this confining. Sure, it was a larger bedroom than others would have, but it was still restricting and it made her feel as if she was suffocating. Imagine how pathetic that sounded! A deity, a goddess, whining about being confined in a room just because it was smaller than her usual rooms- but she had her reasons for this discomfort. Silent reasons, yes, but reasons nonetheless. She wasn’t going to start spilling out her heart to anyone just because she was suddenly in an uncomfortable situation.

“How long do you plan on staying in my room?” Lorelle asked, frowning. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Someone else to go and talk to?”   
“Do you want me to leave?” the Devoted girl asked, frowning, almost sounding hurt.  
“I would love that.”

There was a few moments of quiet where Lorelle thought that the Devoted girl was going to start crying again, but when nothing came, she found herself relieved.  
“I’ll be back to give you dinner,” the Devoted girl said as she got up. “But… I have been wanting to talk to Lenys for a while…”

And Lorelle didn’t even lift her head as she listened to the footsteps walking away, followed closely by the door opening and closing.

And then she was alone again. Finally.


	4. Our Crowd

“Lenys?”

Gwennyth called out from the bottom of the stairs, beginning to make her way up them. Alone, of course, which did make it more challenging than necessary, but Lenys was upstairs and she usually only let herself rely on her.  
“Lenys?” she called again, finally hearing footsteps coming from above her, heavy, sauntering. Nobody else walked with such a slow pace while stomping every step so it had to be Lenys, bringing Gwennyth immeasurable relief. She reached the top of the stairs, figuring that out by feeling the banister curve to a drop.

“Shit, Gwen?” Came Lenys’ voice and the inevitable smell of smoke that followed her around. Gwen would complain if she didn’t rely on her so much. “You should have just stayed there, I was coming downstairs anyway. I don’t want you tripping and falling or anything.”  
“There’s no need to worry. Everyone knows not to leave anything out if I could trip over it.” Gwen smiled, holding out her hand and waiting patiently for Lenys’ hand to slot reassuringly into her own. A reminder that she was safe, that she would be guided safely, that she had nothing to worry about.

As much as she’d learned to cope with being blind- there wasn’t exactly an alternative- she still felt more reassured when she had some form of protection. Some people had canes that they used to ensure that nothing was in the way. Others had guide dogs. Gwen had the people around her and familiar environments. It was part of the reason why she rarely left the house- the other reason was that she couldn’t stand leaving.

“Yeah, you say that, but just last week Tarek ‘accidentally’ left everything he could fucking find on the floor to make you trip. That dick couldn’t care less what damage he does as long as it ends up being funny to him.” Lenys fixed one arm around her waist and began to lead her up the second flight of stairs.

There were four floors to the manor- the first floor contained the foyer, main room- with the attached kitchen on the right and a bathroom on the left. The furniture that had once been in the living room was stuffed into the large kitchen, pressed up against the far wall. While the counters and equiptment were against the walls to the north, the couches, cushions, blankets and the tv were against the south wall. It might not have been convenient, but the main room was currently blocked off with the dissection table being in the centre and the tables which held the torture devices and knives surrounding it. There wasn't exactly room for anyone to get cosy. Lorelle’s room was in the centre at the back, and to her left was Conscienta and Layten’s room while Daniel and Nate’s room was on the right. 

That layout was a matter of security. If anything happened to Lorelle, it was important to have the leader of the cult one room away, along with the two experts in black magic practice/theory who could stop her. The main room being used for her was also there so that if she attempted to leave, she wouldn’t be far from her room where she could return quite easily. 

The second floor, the one they were stood on now, had nothing but two heavy doors, barred and locked and covered with signs that commanded for anyone to get away from the room, to get out, that if they touched the doors to that room they’d be killed. Daniel never let people ask him about it, and nobody but Nate and Tarek knew what those doors led to- but they never said anything, either. There were cameras affixed to the walls and alarms that would go off if you tripped a wire near the door. Gwennyth had stumbled over it once by accident after Tarek had left something out that she’d tripped over. She’d landed on the wire and set off the alarm, and Daniel had come running upstairs, shouting about everything and anything with every curse known. Until, of course, he’d realised who had tripped it off and that it truly was an accident and went downstairs, grumbling. Gwennyth had heard something dense and wooden hit the ground when he told her to get up, and when she’d gone to figure out what it was it turned out to be a baseball bat- with several nails in the top.

She didn’t dwell on the thought much longer. It wasn’t a pleasant memory to recall. Thinking of what Daniel may have done if he’d thought she was intentionally trying to get to the off-limits room… She didn’t know what he was capable of.

But now she was going upstairs with Lenys’ help. With the reassuring arm around her waist and the slow pace and the smell of tobacco mixed with the subtle underlay of weed that she’d gotten accustomed to after so long around Lenys. On the third floor were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The room in the middle belonged to Tarek, the room on the left to diIke, and the right room was hers and Lenys’. There were often negative aspects of sharing a room with Lenys- the alcohol was one, the drugs was another, the cigarettes would be a third- but she liked it regardless. It had its own sort of comforting atmosphere. She knew they Lenys was always in a sort of world of her own, and they’d spend hours and hours in almost-silence where the only sound was Lenys’ music blaring from her headphones and the sound of her drinking or taking smoke into her lungs and puffing it out in magnificent clouds of intoxication. 

The third floor felt the safest to her. The floorboards didn’t creak, it was smooth beneath her feet, and there was room for her to have her arms out either side of herself if she wanted to find her bearings, meaning she wouldn’t immediately walk into walls if she got confused about where she was. The doors were smooth, too, so when she felt for the door handle she wouldn’t get splinters like she sometimes did downstairs. It was a recent addition- the floor must have been put in by Daniel, meaning that the observatory above them must have been too. The observatory… she never went up there. She didn’t have any kind of a reason to, in her defense. She couldn’t see anything, there was nothing to observe, so what was the point? Where was the need to go there if it wouldn’t benefit her?

But for now, she was just going to her room. Lenys’ safely got her to the top floor and pushed the door open, letting Gwennyth walk over to her bed and slump down on it. Their single beds were at opposite sides of the room, pressed against opposite walls. Lenys had the bed by the windows so that she wouldn’t kill them both with the sheer amount of fumes she released into the room every day, and Gwennyth took the bed by the wall. She was rarely in this room, anyway, and being near Tarek’s room wasn’t that bad. Most of the time. It depended on whether or not he’d been drinking and what kind of mood he’d gone to bed with.

Speaking of Tarek, though, while Gwennyth was getting comfortable and waiting to be called to deliver Lorelle’s dinner to her, he was talking with Daniel. They were in the kitchen, with Nate to be a bystander to their conversation, a witness to their crimes. The door had been shut and locked behind them, and Daniel was standing with his back to the kitchen counter and his eyes fixed on Tarek. His hands were curled into fists as they rested on the counter behind him, his teeth grit. 

“What is it now?” Daniel asked, a little growl curling up around his words. Apparently that was how he spoke with everyone, not just with kidnapped deities.  
“What? Can’t I just have a friendly chat with my favourite cultist?” asked Tarek, a slick little purr to his words. Amusement, entertainment, like a serpent coiling around a hare to slowly squeeze the life out of it.   
“No. I don’t want to talk to you.” More malice. Disgust, even.  
“But I want to talk to you, and you don’t get a choice with that.”

Silence. Just for a heartbeat or two, a moment, fletting.

“Fine. But make it quick. What are you here to bitch about this time?”

What had twisted through Daniel’s mind to make him agree to hearing out Tarek all of a sudden? It seemed to be a silent agreement between the two of them. Tarek likely knew something, or maybe Daniel didn’t know enough, but there was some tension. Some conflict. Some issue between them- unspoken, but ensnaring them both in some twisted web. Whoever was the spider, though, was a matter of opinion, a matter of circumstance. Sometimes it was Daniel, sometimes it was Tarek. Sometimes they were equally advantaged or disadvantaged simply because they didn’t want to give the high ground to the other person.

But that was irrelevant.

Now? Now was something different entirely.

“You promised me I could hurt something.”

This would be a compromise. It would have to be. They only rarely compromised and, until about two years ago, they hadn’t compromised at all. What changed was something unspoken, something rare and sudden and unpredictable. Unspoken meant that not even his thoughts dared to delve into the events that transpired. Tarek must have felt similarly.

“I did,” Daniel confirmed, smiling a little. “Is there an issue with that promise? Do you want to change your mind? Because it would be a little disappointing if-”  
“Shut the fuck up,” snapped Tarek. Daniel’s smile faltered and he complied, but he put in a little effort to ensure that his smug facade didn’t fade. “I want to hurt something. I want to do that now. I don’t fucking care if that thing in the other room agrees to our demands or not, I was told I could have the pleasure of making it scream.”

What disgusting words. An involuntary shudder ran through Daniel’s bones but he stilled himself, he still didn’t let it show. In his eyes, he had the high ground. He was the one in charge of the cult, he was the one whose hand was curled around the handle of a knife. He was the one that could determine whether or not Tarek would be able to harm Lorelle while she was there.

“We had an agreement,” Daniel said instead, choosing the safest path he could pave for himself. He was just reinstating the facts, going over what they’d already agreed on. “In exchange for staying here, eating my food and torturing my guest, you have to stand down and be damn patient until we get an answer. If we just go in, guns blazing, blades brandished, we’ll never get anywhere with her. We have to give her the option- give us what we want, or we’ll take it. If we go and take it anyway, that just defeats the point.”

“The point? What point? The only reason I want that thing here is so I can hurt it! That was what I was promised!” Tarek took a few steps forward and Daniel, without any form of hesitation, turned to brandish the knife to him- a line of defence, something to keep between them if anything went south. Tarek stopped dead, he muttered an ungodly string of curses under his breath but took a step back. Daniel didn’t lower the knife.

 

“Babe,” Nate said from behind him, warning him. “Come on, put that down.”  
“Nate, darling, shut the fuck up for a moment.” His focus turned back to Tarek. “Keep your distance and we can keep talking, okay? 

Tarek threw out his arms in a mix of frustration and defeat.  
“Fine. Fine, I’ll stay right here, but you have to talk to me now. There, we’ve got an agreement. If we both stay right here and talk, we’ll find an agreement.” He hated answering to Daniel. That much was evident just from the tension in his jaw and the way his shoulders squared at the their current situation. He hated this, despised every second of it. 

That’s why Daniel’s dad had been a much preferred leader. Well- that and many other reasons. And when his eyes flicked to Nate and the disgusting way the two of them spoke to each other, it became just a little more obvious why he hated Daniel.  
“I want to hurt something. Got it? That’s all that I want to fucking do. That’s all I’m here to do and if I can’t hurt that, what can I hurt? Who? I might just say fuck it and hit you!”  
“Oh, go fucking cry about it! You either get to hurt her or you don’t, alright? That’s it! Two outcomes! And if you don’t, go take your damn sob story elsewhere! Get out of here, get far away, and never even think about coming back!”

Tarek grit his teeth.  
“If you could put that knife down, I’d love to beat the shit out of you.”  
“I know you would,” Daniel spat, gripping tighter to his knife. “Get out. That’s the end of our discussion. We’re done talking now.”

And, with surprising obedience, Tarek turned and left. And, nicely, he only punched one wall on his way out, meaning that even as the words shouted followed Tarek and echoed down the halls, it was a better reaction than Daniel had expected. Then, and only when the shouts had faded away, did Daniel throw his knife back onto the kitchen counter and turn to face Nate. 

“Daniel,” came his boyfriend’s chiding voice. Sweet, but irritated. “You need to cut back on your language, okay?” He turned, holding out an arm for Daniel to come into his embrace. After a moment or so where it seemed like Daniel was going to refuse, he moved over to Nate’s embrace and wrapped both arms around his waist.   
“I’m trying,” he muttered, learning against Nate’s chest, closing his eyes. Rarely did he feel safe enough for something like this, but Nate had that kind of demeanour. A slow going, easy, carefree sort of attitude that made it so easy to listen to and trust him. So even if Daniel’s heart was pounding in his chest after that argument, even if he was frustrated and felt all of his tension balled up in his stomach like a heavy dollop of molten lava that filled his mind and veins with fire, he was soothed with Nate. Nate was the water to his fire, able to keep him from getting too out of line.

But he didn’t say any of that. Why would he? He had no reason to tell Nate any of this. Eventually, he wouldn’t matter to Nate and he’d be a bad memory, with the kind of influence over the next few years of Nate’s life as a nightmare would do to someone’s morning. He knew the feeling all too well.

“I’m glad you’re trying,” said Nate, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of Daniel’s head, smiling at him as he broke away to focus on dinner again. It was almost done cooking, then he just had to begin serving up and everyone could eat. He’d already prepared everything else on the tray to go to Lorelle’s room, leaving a glass of wine and another glass of water, a napkin folded into a rose- a neat trick his little sister had taught him after picking it up from a friend at school. The cutlery was the finest he could find, and all he had left to do was get the meal plated for her. 

 

Daniel didn’t say anything for a few moments.  
“Don’t tell me not to point a knife at him,” he said shortly, though, referring to Tarek. “You… you don’t know what he’s done. I can point a knife at him if I want.”  
“Babe, you refuse to tell me what he did and then expect me to have sympathy, you’re going about it the wrong way. I understand that you don’t want to talk about it, there are a lot of things that I’m not talking about, but you can’t expect me to be perfectly understanding and tolerable for things I don’t know about.”

Nate got out a few more plates and opened the oven, taking out the pork and setting it on the counter. He checked that it was well cooked all the way through before he began to cut it into sections, humming to himself. The meat was tender, rich, seasoned well and cooked thoroughly. It cut easily, expelling wafts of steam and releasing a pleasant scent along with it. Nate sliced off a small piece extra when he heard that familiar scritching of paws on wooden floorboards, Daniel opening the door to let in a pitbull, slobbering at the smell of meat, tail flicking back and forth excitedly. She barked, yapping, settling back and sitting down, looking up at Nate with hungry whines. Daniel closed the door behind her, coming over to Daniel.

“Which bit’s hers?” he asked, taking the piece that Nate pushed aside for her.  
“I swear, you can never find her unless she smells meat. You can call and call her but it’s only when she smells food that she actually comes out.”

Daniel knelt down, the piece of pork in his hand.  
“Hey, Tank! Heya baby,” he said, whistling a little. Her eyes followed the piece of meat and she stayed sat obediently down, sniffing at the pork, leaning out and sticking her nose out to try to get to it. “Come on, Tank. Paw? We practiced this one. Paw?” He held out his hand flat for her and she, quite happily, let her paw rest on it. He pulled his hand back and held in front of her other paw.

 

“And other one? Come on, Tank!” He tapped her front leg a little and she waved her paw, trying to find where his hand was without taking her eyes off of the piece of meat. When it settled in his palm, he dropped the piece of pork- and it was gone within a second. She slobbered happily as she jumped onto Daniel’s leg, barking up at him. Grinning, he began to scratch behind her ear and littered her face with kiss after kiss, humming a little.

 

“Oh, my beautiful Tank,” he said affectionately to her. “Only girl i’ve ever loved, aintcha? Hm?” She gave him slobbery kisses all over the bottom half of his face, sniffling at him, her tail still wagging as he began to scratch her back, making sure to give her plenty of love.

Until, of course, Nate was done serving out nine portions of food and had seasoned each just a little extra. He turned to Daniel.  
“Could you tell everyone that dinner’s ready? Then you can go and find Gwen so she can bring Lorelle her food? Thanks.” He watched as Daniel got up, and then carefully put a kiss on his forehead so that he wouldn’t end up accidentally kissing dog slobber. He watched as Daniel wiped off his face and nodded, whistling to Tank again.  
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, getting up and starting to the door, beginning to the room on the far right, where Layten and Conscienta were. He’d get around to Gwen when he got upstairs.

“Dinner’s ready!” he called to the two in their room, leaning against the doorframe. Conscienta was the one to open the door, smiling warmly.  
“Thanks, Dan,” she said, watching him grimace.  
“Don’t call me that.”  
“I think it suits you. Far more than Daaaanielllll, anyway.”

Conscienta watched with a triumphant smile as Daniel turned and left, pushing the door shut behind herself.  
“Alright,” she began toward Layten, who had her notepad open in front of him and was flicking through the pages idly. “We’ve got about ten minutes before everyone is at the table and waiting. Let’s practice this now and get it over with.”

She set down a small square cage beside Layten, one containing a few rats.  
“Use these and see if you can teleport that can.”

Layten’s eyes drifted up and fixed on her, a small smile forming on his lips.  
“What is this, magic for beginners? Give me something bigger. Something heavier. I want a challenge- especially if you want me to use so many rats. Come on, what else have we got?” He scanned the room, soon turning his attention to a small trophy sitting on Conscienta’s side of the room. “What about that?”  
“What, my trophy? You want to use my trophy?”  
“You got it years ago. Come on, hand it over. Let me try with it. If this goes well, it’ll teleport smoothly over there. If it fails, then you just… won’t have a trophy, I guess. You have thirteen of them at least, and those are just the ones on display. What harm would it be to lose one?”

There was quiet for a few moments before Conscienta shook her head.  
“I’ll go through the equations once more,” she said, taking the rat cage and setting it on the floor. “Then we can try it. Maybe. But all of those trophies are important and if even one is lost, I’m going to break up with you.” She pulled Layten to his feet and laced their fingers together, pulling him to her side. He smiled, learning over to press a kiss to the crook of her neck, smiling fondly.  
“Alright, darling,” he said with almost mock sincerity. “You can run over the equations a few more times. Maybe, maybe, we can try it on something smaller before I try it on your treasured trophies. What are they for, anyway? Junior spelling bees? Do they give out awards for culty nerds?”  
“Shut up.”

Despite the mocking tone in their voices, they pressed close to each other as they walked through the main hall, around the table that had been left in the centre of the living room and to the attached kitchen. Conscienta wasn’t sure how many times she’d dismissed doing an experiment because Layten had decided that his amusement was more important than whatever she prized. He was only joking, though, and he knew that she’d back out of it if anything came to risk. 

They sauntered into the kitchen and each took their plates, sitting on the couch stashed in the corner of the kitchen. Layten sat down first, on the left, and Conscienta settled in the corner beside him with her legs over his lap, starting to eat. Rarely were they seen apart, the two were joined at the hip and had been even when they joined Daniel. It wasn’t even clear how long they’d been dating, just that they were some oddly perfect fit for each other.

There weren’t many couples found in this odd space. Of the eight people involved, there were two couples. Nate and Daniel were one, Layten and Conscienta were another. Ike insisted that he had a girlfriend, though he didn’t talk about her unless he was pushed to (he didn’t talk about much unless he was pushed to), and Tarek was a mystery, but Gwen and Lenys were single. That was probably for the best, anyway. It wasn’t like many people were destined to find love when they were cultists. 

And, honestly, nobody really knew why Ike was there in the first place. He didn’t fit in, he didn’t really contribute something, he was just… there.

He’d already settled on the floor by the couch, tucked away in the corner, beginning to eat his dinner contently, his curly mass of ginger hair sitting on top of his head and making him stick out like a sore thumb even as he sat quietly and tried to stay out of sight or unnoticeable.

The truth was that nobody really knew much about Ike. They didn’t quite care, either. He was there, he was another factor, someone else who was there to witness what they did. Someone who wanted something unspoken from Lorelle, who shared his wants and his desires with nobody. All they knew was that there was something wanted from her that was powerful enough to keep him here, in a crowd he didn’t belong in, with people that intimidated him.

“How’s everyone enjoying dinner?” Nate asked, preparing the tray of food and handing it to Gwennyth. Her food was on it, too, with a glass of juice and Lenys was waiting by her side to escort her out. “I’ve been working on it for a while- I thought we all deserved something a little nicer today for our hard work these last few weeks.”

Conscienta and Layten didn’t pay much attention, but Nate took their contented faces for a good enough answer. Daniel, who didn’t like to be affectionate publicly, pressed a subtle kiss to Nate’s cheek when nobody was looking and mumbled a soft praise for his cooking, as he usually did as the end of every meal, when everyone had left. Nate gave him a smile.  
“I’m glad someone answers my question,” he said softly. “Come on, after this we can go to bed early. Yeah? Or we could go out and you could smoke while I get some fresh air?”   
“I’d like that,” Daniel said, squeezing Nate’s hand a little before continuing to eat. “We’ll leave everyone to their own devices for a while. It’s like herding cats to deal with everyone.”

Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and closing, where Gwennyth had left and was going to Lorelle’s room yet again. Lenys guided here there and inside, one arm still affixed around her waist. She brought Gwen to sit on the bed and took the tray from her, setting it down by Lorelle and passing Gwen her plate.  
“There,” she said, taking a few steps back. “Let me know when you want to go to bed, okay? I’ll come find you whenever.”

Gwen nodded, her focus turning to where she could hear Lorelle shifting the bedsheets and taking the tray. She heard Lorelle beginning to eat and averted her focus back to her own meal, which had already been cut up to save her the effort. She was just enjoying the meal, smiling to herself, not minding the silence between herself and Lorelle. Just being around her was enough for now.

So they sat in each others company, and they ate.

Until Gwen began to speak.  
“I thought about what you asked me,” she said through her mouthful of food. She didn’t hear anything from Lorelle, but she wasn’t asked to be quiet so she kept talking. “About what you are… about how I imagine you.”  
“Please,” Lorelle began, a small smile curling onto her lips. “Do elaborate.” There was still amusement curled around her voice. She was curious, it was clear in every amused lick of her voice. Something about it was appealing to Gwen, though she couldn’t quite say what.

“To me… you’re passion. You’re the euphoria after winning a race, the bliss of a lovers kiss, the energy of a dance at a festival and the adrenaline rush that no drugs could supply. You’re… the embodiment of power, of the force that a punch is thrown with. The frenzy that rushes through veins when anger takes over. You’re the perfection of an angel, the life of a bustling street. You’re passion, energy, fire, love. But… you’re also hatred. You’re the burning hatred that burns villages and kills thousands. You’re the revenge of a thousand innocents and criminals alike. You’re the fruit that condemned Adam and Eve, the tree that created it, the hand that made the tree.”

She smiled ever so slightly.  
“You are everything. Anger, happiness, love, hate, passion, fury… Creation and destruction. You’re everything.”

“I’d say that that was a satisfactory answer.” 

Lorelle spoke without even a moment of hesitation. Gwen could hear her chewing, cutting up her food, could hear the amusement in her voice and the excitement in her tone. Lorelle was always so much more transparent than Gwennyth would have anticipated. It was entertaining. It was always easier to read people by their attitudes and voices than their expressions. People were good at lying, but when you were used to listening to people’s voices and nothing else, when you had to infer everything you knew, it made itself apparent. Gwen smiled.

“I’m glad I satisfied you,” she said, pride swelling in her chest, making her feel special. Important. This was what she’d wanted- to be acknowledged, to be validated, to be noticed and spoken to by Lorelle.

She was finally getting what she wanted from Lorelle. Nothing had ever felt as good as this.  
“What time is it?” Gwen asked after a few moments, eating the last few mouthfuls of her meal.  
“Around six in the evening,” answered Lorelle, her eyes fixing on the window above them, studying the golden glow of late night sun that streamed through the window. Gwen nodded a little.  
“How long will you let me stay?”  
“If that’s an offer for me to tell you to leave, I’ll accept. I want to be alone.”

Maybe Gwen didn't want to believe it for a few moments. How could Lorelle just tell her to leave after they had shared such a sweet moment? After trusting her. But all she had to do was trust Lorelle. Lorelle wanted to be alone, so she could be alone. Lorelle wanted her to leave, so she took her plate, her glass of water, and got to her feet.

“I hope you have a good night,” Gwennyth said quietly, smiling a little- her system still buzzing with the excitement of having been spoken to so sweetly by Lorelle. She didn’t get a response, but she didn’t expect one, so she pulled back and closed the door behind her. Now she just needs Lenys to lead her back to her room.

Today… had been more successful than anticipated. For everyone.


End file.
